“I went to two meetings today,” he said, “and I wound up deciding I didn’t want to share this at a meeting. But I have to talk about it, and I need advice, or at the very least a sounding board, because I don’t know what I should do.”
“If you’re thinking of selling your story to the National Enquirer,” she said, “I’d advise against it.”
“My story?”
“ ‘I Cleaned Up after the Charles Street Strangler.’ ”
“Oh, please. You’re going to think I’m an idiot.”
“What I think of you,” she said, “is none of your business.”
“I feel better already. Oh, this is stupid. What it is, there’s something I forgot to tell the police.”
“ ‘I love you, Officer.’ ”
“Ha! No, I don’t think so. Lois, there was something I saw that maybe was a clue, and I didn’t say anything.”
“Why?”
“Because I forgot. Because I was flustered, and I already felt like such an idiot, and they clearly thought I was hopeless, and it slipped my mind.”
“If it was a clue,” she said, “maybe they stumbled on it themselves, without Lord Peter’s invaluable assistance.”
“Lord Peter?”
“Lord Peter Wimsey, the talented amateur, without whom Scotland Yard would be powerless in the fight against crime. Don’t you read books? Never mind, sweetie. Maybe they worked it out on their own.”
“They couldn’t have,” he said, “because it wasn’t something that was there. It was something that wasn’t there.”
“Huh?”
“A little turquoise rabbit,” he said, “about so big, and it was one of three fetishes she had, and they were always together, grouped around the little dish of cornmeal, and when I got there the place was a mess, the bison and the bear were lying on their sides and the cornmeal was spilled, and—”
“Whoa,” she said. “Cornmeal?”
“Yellow cornmeal, like you’d make cornbread with, in a little china saucer. Oh, why the cornmeal? That was for them to eat.”
“For...”
“The three of them, the bison and the bear and the rabbit.”
“Was she some kind of a flake?”
“It’s traditional,” he explained. “You’re supposed to put out food for them.”
“Like milk and cookies for Santa?”
“I suppose so. Anyway, the rabbit was missing, and since they never would have known it was there in the first place—”
“I get it. Maybe the killer took it.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“As a souvenir. Instead of cutting off an ear or a clitoris, like any halfway normal person would do—”
“Jesus!”
“When you thought of it,” she said, “how come you didn’t call them?”
“Because I’m a cowardly custard.”
“Bullshit. Nobody ever stayed sober on cowardice. We’re all heroes.”
“I was afraid to call.”
“That’s something else. What’s the fear?”
“That they’ll think I’m an idiot.”
“You said they already think that.”
“Yes, but—”
“What they think of is none of your business, anyway. Is that all?”
He thought for a moment. “Well, see, I’m out of it now. I had a horrible couple of hours, first finding the body and then being asked the same questions over and over and finally giving a formal statement. I mean, they were perfectly nice, they were almost too polite, but underneath all that respectful politeness it was obvious they despised me. And it’s none of my business, right, but it’s not much fun to be around.”
“Of course it isn’t.”
“So why don’t I just leave well enough alone? I mean, for all I know she dropped the rabbit days ago and its ear broke off and she threw it out. Or it got lost, or, I don’t know...”
“The bear ate it.”
“Actually, I thought of that myself. Early on, before I knew what I’d find behind Door Number One. It was just a nice little whimsical thought. I have to call them, don’t I?”
“Yep.”
“Because it’s my civic duty?”
She shook her head. “Because it’s driving you nuts,” she said, “and you can’t get it out of your head, so for God’s sake tell them and be done with it.”
He stood up. “Thank God you’re my sponsor,” he said.
Alan reade said, “He called you? Why the hell did he call you and not me?”
“I guess I’m cuter,” Slaughter said.
“I was nicer to him than you were, man. I was the perfect Sensitive New Age Guy, treating him like a human being instead of a dizzy little flit.”
“Maybe your sincerity came shining through,” Slaughter suggested. “Did you even give him your card?”
“Of course I gave him my card. Call anytime, I told him. You think of anything, I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night, just pick up the phone.”
“Maybe he tried you first and your line was busy.”
“Musta been,” Reade said. “Now what’s this shit about a rabbit?”
“He called it a fetish, which to me is a sex thing, fur or high heels or leather, shit like that.”
“Black rubber.”
“Hey, whatever works for you, Alan. These are little figurines, the Indians carve ’em out in Arizona and New Mexico. You keep ’em around and feed ’em cornmeal.”
“Cornmeal?”
“Don’t worry about it. She had three of them, according to Pankow, and one was missing.”
“The rabbit.”
“Right. The others were a bear and a bison. You remember seeing them, because I have to say I don’t.”
“No.”
“Well, he says they were there, and—”
“Wait a minute, it’s coming back to me. On a little table, two little animals, and one was a buffalo. The other was pink—”
“Rose quartz, he said.”
“—and I couldn’t tell what it was, but I suppose it coulda been a bear. I don’t remember any rabbit.”
“That’s the point. The rabbit was missing.”
“Same size as the others?”
“A little smaller, he said. Maybe two and a half inches long.”
“Does that include the ears? Never mind. What did you say, turquoise?”
“That’s a kind of blue stone.”
“Jesus,” Reade said, “I know what fucking turquoise is. My wife’s got this silver necklace, her brother gave it to her, and he’s as light in his loafers as Pankow, incidentally. A turquoise rabbit, and he says it was there the week before?”
“Swears to it.”
“I didn’t see any kind of a rabbit in Creighton’s apartment,” he said, “unless you count the bunny on the cover of Playboy. But would you even notice something like that if you weren’t looking for it?”
“This time we’ll be looking for it.”
“If we can find a judge who’ll write out a warrant.”
Slaughter, beaming, pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “All taken care of,” he said. “Courtesy of Judge Garamond, the policeman’s best friend.”
Reade finished his coffee, pushed back his chair. “You want to go over there? It’s a little early, he might be sleeping in.”
“So we’ll wake him up.”
On the way Reade said, “Creighton seem to you like the type to take a souvenir?”
“No.”
“Me neither. That’s a serial killer thing, isn’t it? I didn’t see a whole lot of ritual in Fairchild’s apartment.”